....Fubara as the Undertaker of a Fallen Political Demi‑god and His Quiet Art of Retiring an Overfed Boastful Boss
"Wike in the Museum of Political Relics – Governor Fubara as the Curator of a Finished Godfather"
Wike once strutted across the Rivers political landscape like a self‑crowned emperor, barking orders and mistaking fear for respect. His word was law, his anger a decree, and his every noisy outburst a command performance for trembling loyalists. But as the impeachment plot against Governor Fubara continues to crumble, the stage lights that once flattered Wike now expose him in unflinching detail: a loud, overacting politician whose script has finally expired. The defections from the so‑called “zombie” lawmakers are not just political moves; they are public confessions that the spell of Wike’s overbearing influence is breaking, piece by humiliating piece.
Consequently, the same Assembly members who once marched in lockstep like remote‑controlled puppets have begun to rediscover their spines. Their withdrawals from the impeachment move expose the hollowness of Wike’s supposed invincibility. One by one, his “loyal soldiers” are quietly deserting the battlefield, choosing peace and dialogue over the vanity project of an overfed godfather who cannot accept that his era is over. In this slow but steady unravelling, Wike stands like a desperate director on an empty stage, screaming lines no one cares to recite. The once‑roaring lion has been reduced to a hoarse whisper in a forest that has moved on.
Moreover, the situation reveals the tragic flaw that has always haunted Wike’s career: his pride, swollen beyond proportion; his arrogance, worn like a crown of thorns; and his incurable loquaciousness, a stream of words that has finally washed away his own foundations. He built a towering image of himself, but like all monuments to ego, it could not survive the storm of reality. In his obsession to control Governor Fubara, he forgot that even a “boy” grows into a man, and that every puppet dreams, someday, of cutting its strings. Wike’s political tragedy is self‑authored; he did not merely dig his own grave, he designed it, decorated it, and then jumped in ceremoniously.
In addition, the impeachment fiasco has turned into a moral lecture for other politicians addicted to overbearing godfatherism. Wike’s miscalculation is now a cautionary tale: when you try to humiliate a sitting governor you helped to install, you risk becoming the main character in your own downfall. He imagined that threats and noise would bend Fubara to his will, yet each attempt to intimidate the governor has backfired like a faulty firework, bursting in his own face. The more Wike rages, the more he shrinks; the more he speaks, the more foolish he appears. His loquaciousness, once a political weapon, now sounds like the background noise of a man no longer taken seriously.
Furthermore, as Wike’s influence wanes, Governor Fubara’s stature quietly grows. While Wike bellows and postures, Fubara has chosen the language of restraint, dialogue, and stability. That contrast is not accidental; it is poetic justice. The godfather tried to script the godson’s downfall, only to hand him the pen of destiny. Each lawmaker who withdraws from the impeachment drama writes another line in the story of Wike’s humiliation and Fubara’s vindication. The governor’s calm has exposed Wike’s bluster as hollow theatre—sound and fury, signifying nothing but a man terrified of irrelevance.
As the Rivers Assembly prepares to reconvene, the atmosphere is no longer dominated by fear of Wike’s wrath, but by the possibility of independent thought and genuine governance. The same chamber that once echoed with the mechanical chorus of a godfather’s will is gradually finding a new tune. Lawmakers now speak of peace, stability, and Rivers State’s interest rather than Wike’s ego. That shift is the loudest verdict of all: the godfather has lost his grip, and the state is slipping away from his clenched fists. Even his most loyal “zombie” followers are awakening, blinking in the light of political reality and retreating from the embarrassment of being seen as mere extensions of his overfed ego.
In the larger theatre of Nigerian politics, Wike’s current humiliation reads like a satirical play. The man who once mocked others with fierce tongue‑lashings now finds himself at the receiving end of history’s sarcasm. He is paying for his political sins in instalments—each failed maneuver, each collapsing plot, each deserting loyalist a receipt stamped “No refund.” His attempt to overshadow Governor Fubara has instead illuminated his own smallness. The godfather has been retired by his “boy,” and that retirement is not graceful; it is forced, reluctant, and painfully public.
Thus, Wike’s downfall appears less like an accident and more like a long‑overdue consequence. Pride has devoured his judgment, arrogance has blinded his sense of proportion, and his endless talking has finally drowned out the last echoes of respect. He is now a living warning label for other politicians: do not confuse noise with power, and do not believe your own propaganda so much that you imagine yourself untouchable. In trying to make himself immortal in Rivers politics, he has made himself a caricature—an example cited in hushed tones as “what not to become.”
Meanwhile, Governor Fubara stands, perhaps not as the loudest man in the room, but as the one whose quiet resilience has outlasted a storm of insults and sabotage. In the end, it is he who will have the last laugh, not because he shouted the most, but because he refused to be bullied into oblivion. Wike’s attempt to script Fubara’s political obituary has resulted in his own burial in the grave he so eagerly dug. The teacher has been retired by the student; the master has been politically pensioned off by the apprentice he underestimated.
In the final analysis, Wike’s story in Rivers State has crossed from drama into dark comedy. Here stands a man who once saw himself as the alpha and omega of the state’s politics, now reduced to a cautionary proverb whispered in political corridors. He has been silenced not by force, but by the sheer weight of his own miscalculations. Governor Fubara, by simply standing his ground and outlasting the storm, has effectively retired his master from relevance. And as the curtain falls on Wike’s noisy reign, Rivers State moves on, leaving him behind as a relic of an era where pride shouted too loudly and wisdom spoke too softly. Now, at last, wisdom is being heard.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
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